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But Evil was his Good,
For all too long in blood had he been nurst, And ne'er was earth with verier tyrant curst. Bold man and bad,
Remorseless, godless, full of fraud and lies, And black with murders and with perjuries, Himself in Hell's whole panoply he clad; No law but his own headstrong will he knew,
No counsellor but his own wicked heart.
O France! beneath this fierce Barbarian's sway Disgraced thou art to all succeeding times; Rapine, and blood, and fire have mark'd thy way, All loathsome, all unutterable crimes.
A curse is on thee, France! from far and wide It hath gone up to Heaven; all lands have cried For vengeance upon thy detested head;
All nations curse thee, France! for wheresoe'er In peace or war thy banner hath been spread, All forms of human woe have follow'd there: The Living and the Dead
Cry out alike against thee! They who bear, Crouching beneath its weight, thine iron yoke,
Join in the bitterness of secret prayer The voice of that innumerable throng Whose slaughtered spirits day and night invoke The everlasting Judge of right and wrong, How long, O Lord! Holy and Just, how long!
A merciless oppressor hast thou been, Thyself remorselessly oppress'd meantime; Greedy of war, when all that thou couldst gain Was but to dye thy soul with deeper crime, And rivet faster round thyself the chain.
O blind to honour, and to interest blind,
Thyself the while a miserable slave; Behold the flag of vengeance is unfurl'd! The dreadful armies of the North advance ; While England, Portugal, and Spain combined Give their triumphant banners to the wind, And stand victorious in the fields of France.
One man hath been for ten long wretched years The cause of all this blood and all these tears;
One man in this most aweful point of time Draws on thy danger, as he caused thy crime. Wait not too long the event,
For now whole Europe comes against thee bent; His wiles and their own strength the nations know; Wise from past wrongs, on future peace intent,
The People and the Princes, with one mind,
One act of justice, one atoning blow,
Even yet, O France! averts thy punishment: Open thine eyes! too long hast thou been blind; Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind!
France! if thou lov'st thine ancient fame,
Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame!
of frozen Muscovy;
By the bodies that lie all open to the sky,
By the lives which he hath shed,
By the prayers that rise for curses on his head,
By those horrors which the night
Open thine eyes! too long hast thou been blind!
FUNERAL ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE
In its summer pride array'd,
Low our Tree of Hope is laid!
Death hath levell'd root and flower.
Ye whose relics rest around,
Summon'd to the untimely tomb?
Late in beauty's vernal bloom,
Henry, thou of saintly worth,
Ancestral crimes were visited:
Meek of heart and undefiled,
Patiently his crown resign'd,
And fix'd on heaven his heavenly mind,
Passive as that humble spirit,
And when Wharfe ran red with slaughter,
On the day of Towton's field,
Only like a tournament;
Half the blood which there was spent
Thou, Elizabeth, art here;
Thou to whom all griefs were known;
And favour'd in their lot are they
But thou, Seymour, with a greeting, Such as sisters use at meeting, Joy, and sympathy, and love, Wilt hail her in the seats above.